A Worthwhile Duel
by Drarryiscannon
Summary: After the war, eighth year at Hogwarts doesn't feel quite right. When Harry suddenly finds...distraction in a former enemy, he isn't quite sure what to do. Mature for ideas more than content. Ended up more romance-y than originally intended. Please forgive. Post DH, ignores 'original' epilouge. Sorry for all the post war world stuff. Got a bit caught up in other characters too :)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own 'em. If I did, Drarry would _actually _be canon. Please review, helps a lot!

Chaper One:

Harry Potter was restless. Part of him had known that that would be the case upon returning to Hogwarts for an eighth year. The whole world had changed during the war, but the fact that the larger battles had all taken place in the end of the school year meant that most students were at least a term behind. All the people Harry had spent his whole school life with were back, and he had tried to use that as a positive during the long summer months. The few that hadn't were doing…other things. Undergoing physical therapy. Undergoing other forms of therapy. He shouldn't be jealous of them. But he was. He didn't really have to be back. He could, conceivably, do whatever he wanted. Hogwarts had been a choice; he had been hoping to find at least a smidge of the same old comfort, that the familiarity would help him figure out what to do next. But the restlessness Harry felt was caused by that same familiarity. He had always had something else going on. His mission had always been, eventually, "Stop Voldemort. Save everyone." (yes, dramatic. But ultimately, he argued, true.) Every year at Hogwarts had contained some problem, something Harry had to solve, some larger issue that would take up all his time. He was always able to distract himself from the fact that he didn't really like school, and was actually quite awful at it.

More frustrating still was the fact that none of his old solutions seemed to be working for him. His nightly wanders beneath the invisibility cloak did nothing to calm him down enough to sleep. He flew or practised with a snitch every other day, and he had even taken up running in an attempt to burn his extra energy. But something was always missing.

Sure, he wasn't the only one who had changed. Everything was different, as always after a war. The Weasley family had had a harder summer than most of his friends. Their house gone, their son dead, their children's god parents all killed in the fighting; to say that they had recovered would be a lie. Ron and Hermione's relationship had blossomed through the hardship, the grief. And even though he sometimes wandered around with a haunted, vacant expression, it was always Hermione who could pull Ron back to the present. Ginny and Harry, however, had been doomed from the start. Ginny instantly turned vicious, blaming Harry, and his closeness to Ron, for all their family's struggles. He had put up with it at first, allowing her to use him as a punching bag, allowing her to grieve the way she seemed to need to, but in the end, it had been Arthur's gentle suggestion that they were just hurting each other that drew them apart.

George, of course, had not recovered. As he worked out how to live without Fred, his whole reality shifted. He sold the joke shop for a hefty sum (though Harry still believed he would come to regret that decision), and now did an excellent job working for the Ministry in the Anti-Jinxes and Hexes department. No one was surprised; having spent years _creating _new jinxes, it was an easy step for George to reverse them. But he was not the same. He probably never would be.

All these things bothered Harry. Sitting alone in the summer months at 12 Grimmauld Place, he would blame himself. The solitude was the reason why Harry had turned to…er…promiscuity during those four months off. He supposed he had started sleeping around in an attempt to _feel _something, anything, even if it usually ended up being regret and self-loathing. It had been disturbingly easy to completely change the way he acted in those situations. He supposed it didn't hurt that he was always able to use his Boy Who Lived status and false charm as a pretense for getting people into bed. With regular food and sunlight, he had blossomed into a 'not bad looking bloke', and he attempted to make the geeky, messed up hair, too lanky thing work for him. He had felt foolish at first, because he knew he was absolute crap. Ginny, in a fit of rage, had told him what an awful kisser he was. Its not an easy thing to forget that kind of insult, when thrown at you with vicious venom. Still, he was fairly certain it was no longer true. Practice, practice, practice after all…

In the midst of all his other personality changes, there was a new realization for Harry. After a rather…vivid…dream of Seamus Finnigan, Harry began to explore the idea that his taste may be slightly less one sided than he had previously thought. The discovery had done nothing to stymie Harry's choice of summer activity. Instead, it became even easier, what with the choice pool opening up to include, well, anyone. Especially blondes. Any blonde.

It was hardly an original way to completely lose the plot, and when he returned to Hogwarts, he ended up stopping his conquests cold turkey. He couldn't really place his finger on why, but he hadn't done anything with anyone for the entire autumn. Though, not for lack of effort on the part of other students. The wizarding world may be fairly tolerant of all sexual appetites, what with other species to choose from and everything, but it was definitely not subtle or anonymous. Harry had begun to just laugh when he thought of what Muggle celebrities thought was 'tabloid harassment'. His return to Hogwarts had been met with a gaggle of younger students wanting to jump his bones, having read in the Prophet that his tastes were insatiable.

Beyond the point though, he thought as he sat through another sleepless night. He knew that if he didn't find something to distract himself soon, he was going to have to leave Hogwarts- bad news since he had no current prospects for work. And he definitely couldn't be someone who didn't work. He'd go mad. He was a Quidditch playing Gryffindor for crying out loud. He had to DO something.

Malfoy could tell something was wrong with the Perfect Three. Harry wasn't happy. Draco was not at all pleased with himself for knowing this so completely, but when you spend seven years being obsessed with watching someone, being in tune with their every emotion in an attempt to manipulate or embarrass them in a significant way, it became very hard to miss drastic changes in character. The Weasel he understood; his life had become a complete and utter mess. He didn't see why Granger hung around, when she had (to his express displeasure) become attractive enough to have anyone she pleased. Ron was a choice she may wish to reconsider as she headed towards what was sure to be an influential and powerful career, probably in politics. But Harry. What did Harry have to be displeased about? He had, once a-fucking-gain, saved the entire wizarding world. Everyone sang his praises, and if the papers were to be believed, quite a few were doing a lot more than sing to him. And yet, he moped around, doing very little, and looking twitchy whenever he moved.

The noticing was really starting to get on his nerves. He was trying his best to keep his head down. Despite Lucius' imprisonment, the ministry had done quite a good job of keeping all the other Malfoy crimes out of the limelight. He hadn't suffered as much persecution as many of the former death eaters. But Dark Mark phantom burned whenever he saw someone openly grieve, whenever he passed by one of the parts of the castle that wasn't yet repaired. If it hadn't been necessary to having any sort of life, Draco wouldn't have come back to Hogwarts. He had even applied for a transfer to Durmstrang to finish out his education, but had been left with no other choice. So he was here. Once again noticing Harry Fucking Potter.

Part of the problem for Harry was that the whole system had changed. Eighth years were uncommon. There had never been enough to require a whole year group, and now, with all of them being at least 17 or 18 anyways, McGonagall really couldn't be bothered to keep track of them. They had special classes, and would have to sit end of year exams, but in the meantime, were ineligible to participate in normal House tournaments, like quidditch (though, they had quickly formed their own league and continued to play regularly), and their movements were never restricted. They had no curfew, no sleeping arrangements, and no formal rules about leaving school grounds. It should have been chaos, but once again, the war had changed them all a bit too much for chaos to ensue. The first month had had some shenanigans, but even they settled down once school began.  
>It was incredibly fucking boring.<p>

Which is what led Harry to tacking up the 'eighth year only duelling club' one Wednesday afternoon. If no one was going to care what they did, they might as well have some fun.

Almost the whole year group turned up that evening, proving how much they needed some extracurricular activities that didn't include the quickly-fading Hogsmeade visits.. Casting a randomizer charm, the teams were made up, and they spread out to the different corners of the great hall. The duels were quick and harsh, ruthless things by people used to fighting dark magic. No one dared cast anything that would cause lasting harm, and they all shook hands no matter the outcome. Betting became almost inevitable, and the evening ended in cheering so loud that Peeves showed up and complained irritatingly that it was no longer pleasant, and they all simultaneously called it a night. Ecstatic, happier than he had been since the old D.A. days, Harry thanked everyone as they left the great hall and beamed at Ron and Hermione as they congratulated him for his idea.

Harry took advantage of his oddly elated mood and strolled around the castle, invisibility cloak free. He had only been wearing it out of nostalgia anyways. He was so exuberant that when he reached the deserted fourth floor, he started to skip and run, skidding around corners and sliding into tapestries. And then, straight into the arms of Draco Malfoy.

"Potter, you great git, what ARE you doing?" Steely grey eyes cast down on him with their usual sense of disapproving sneer, but the unfortunate position of Draco's arms steadying him had Harry noticing…things other than Malfoy's face. Like the fact that he had filled out significantly now that he was sleeping, eating, and presumably, not imbuing his soul with dark magic. He was still tall and lean, but no longer what you'd call lanky. And he smelled like…

No. Draco Malfoy, Harry told his brain firmly. No noticing his smell. He disentangled himself from the blonde's robes and took two large steps backwards.

"Sorry. Was happy. I know, not an emotion you are familiar with. Started a duelling club, which I assume you thought was beneath you since I didn't see you there. And it was fun. Won't happen again." He said this all in one puff of breath, hoping he sounded angry instead of flustered.

"About time." Malfoy muttered just loud enough to hear before striding with those long legs down the rest of the corridor. Confused about what the comment had meant, Harry just continued on his meandering path back to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry returned to the common room an hour later, still trying to shake off the feeling of Malfoy's arms around him, reminding himself over and over that this was still Malfoy, regardless of what else happened. Managing to rid himself of most of his emotions, he quickly fell asleep, reveling in the fact that he had been happy for five minutes.

Malfoy was having no such luck. He couldn't believe how shaken he was. One 30 second interaction with Potter had thrown him off the deep end. The stupid happy puppy grin on the git's face would have just pissed him off from afar, but the physical contact combined with the intensity of those emerald green eyes had unleashed a monster in the pit of Draco's stomach that he had long thought he had under control. Fuck. The one word, pregnant with double meaning, rolled around in Draco's head for hours, until he fell into a fitful sleep just as the first hints of sun rolled up the enchanted walls of the Slytherin dungeon.

"Man, I need to get laid." Harry's early morning erection was mostly thanks to a rather intense dream, whose slightly fuzzy central character had rather distinctive eyes, strong arms, and stringy blonde hair.

"What?" Said Ron, and Harry silently cursed himself for forgetting he was no longer in Grummwald Place, where he had begun talking to himself to ward off the loneliness.

"Nothing. Sorry. Weird dream."

Ron, thank gods, just mumbled and rolled over again, muttering about how cold it was until suddenly kicking off his blankets and jolting out of bed. It was startling the first couple of times he had done this, but after 7 years and 5 summers of sleeping near the guy, Harry didn't even flinch. It was, however, only then that he realized Hermione was nestled into the corner of the four poster, dozing lightly. Harry shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure _that_ would ever seem normal to him. Despite the fact that he was glad they were happy, it was a little bit like seeing your brother and sister…well, yes. Exactly.

Tromping down towards the great hall for an early breakfast before dreaded potions classes, he found Neville sitting alone at Gryffindor's table. He was always just a little bit surprised to see how fit the man had become. Not fit in a way Harry ever wanted, but fit in a 'you'd be crazy not to notice' sort of way. He had fared well in the post war world. His acts of courage had done wonders to his reputation, but more importantly, they had converted Neville himself. He stood taller, spoke boldly, no longer stumbled or forgot things. His confidence had acted like a makeover, and people had noticed. Although, these days, Luna was the only one who got to benefit. Harry suspected that may be the case for a long, long time. The two were ridiculously happy. They tried to hide it around others, probably feeling guilty, but frankly, it just made Harry happy; at least something good had come out of the war.

"Hiya, Neville" he said now, causing the other boy to jolt out of his thoughts.

"Oh, hey Harry. Breakfast before potions?"

Nodding, Harry surveyed the table, causing him to look at the rest of the hall for the first time. It was early, too early for most students, and only about a handful of people sat at each house table. Including Draco Malfoy and Pansy, sitting in stony silence, obviously having just argued about something. Harry did a double take. Even from this distance, Malfoy looked uneasy, unrested, and basically, like shite. Without consciously meaning to, Harry sat and chewed his toast for a solid five minutes trying to work out what could have disturbed the blonde's sleep. Until he realized that's what he was thinking about.

"gah. Must stop that." shaking his head, he forced himself to stop.

Neville just looked at him puzzled, but obviously decided it was too early to care and went back to staring at his cup of tea. They sat this way for so long that suddenly, the pair realized they were going to be late for potions. Running down the stone steps, and rounding a corner, they saw the classroom door begin to close. Harry made a dash for it, not wanting to get locked out, and ran headlong into…

"Really, Potter, we've got to stop meeting like this." Malfoy's sneer was suspiciously lacking its sneer. In fact, it was more a small smile that almost resembled amused.

And that threw Harry off more than anything ever had. A smile not intended for evil was not something Malfoy ever directed at Harry. It lit up the blonde man's face, added shine to his eyes, and even in the dim light (maybe because of the dim light), gave him an almost ethereal glow. Hauling himself off the blonde's shoulders and shakily finding his seat next to an already dozing Ron at the back of the classroom, he proceeded to spend 3 hours trying, and failing, to ignore the back of Malfoy's head.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The rest of the week remained collision free, which was a very good thing as far as both Malfoy and Potter were concerned. Neither had survived so well since the last accidental contact, and though they didn't know it, both spent more than a little time trying not to look for the other. Had they thought for a minute about why they were suddenly making eye contact far more often than normal, they may have saved themselves some time and neck strain.

Hermione was not, however, going to get into the middle of it. She was tired of being the emotional guide of Gryffindor boys everywhere. The two of them would just have to work it out on their own. Neither could see that the other had changed, and that frankly, their stupid school feuds had been over very little to begin with. She suspected that if she brought this up to Harry before he was ready, all she would get was explosive anger, followed by a week of silent treatment. Which, since she now spent most nights in his dormitory, would be less than ideal. So she stayed quiet, and satisfied herself by giggling every time she saw the two of them try not look at each other. Again.

Just as Hermione was secretly suspecting, Harry had no fucking clue what was going on with him. He had tried everything from wanking in the shower to some of his classic fantasies, to breaking his celibacy and wanking _on_ a 5th year whose tits should have been distraction enough. But nothing seemed to clear his dream thoughts of Draco Malfoy's arms holding him upright. While doing various other activities.

Fed up, he decided to spend the entire day the following Wednesday bunking off class and going for a long flight instead. Nothing quite cleared his head like dangerously high elevations, and so, kicking off the ground then immediately casting a warming spell, he vaulted precariously fast as high as he dared go, before zooming back to below cloud level and stretching out. Having already decided to go off school grounds, he veered west and headed towards Hogsmeade.

Draco watched Harry as long as he could out the window of the Owlery Tower. He sighed at the sight of the messy haired brunette stretching his legs out on his broomstick. Then immediately chastised himself for sighing like a girl. But it was no use. He was a wreck. He hadn't slept properly in nights, fighting a losing battle of fantasy where he simply locked Potter in the Room of Requirement until he submitted to all of Draco's many pleasurable wills. It wasn't helping that Draco now knew, after catching up on a backlog of summer reading, that Harry's wand pointed both ways. As promising as that _could _be, it took away the possibility that Harry would reject him simply because of a sexual incompatibility.

Draco, more than anything, couldn't believe he was back in a place where he had to think about this. He had been fighting off this line of thought since their freaking duel in second year. Draco had left the tense encounter with the distinct realization that he wasn't very interested in anything other than the way Harry's robes swished alluringly when he cast hexes. Sure, ridiculous. But school boy crushes are rarely grounded in reality. He'd moved on. Had a few close encounters. A relationship in between 5th and 6th year. He was totally over Harry Potter.

Fuck.

"Granger" Short, clipped. Give nothing away. Remain awful human self. Draco repeated these instructions to himself.

"Draco…", Hermione swivelled to look at him, a tone of confusion edging her voice. "Need something?"

"Just. Is there. Is Potter. Duelling. For eighth years?" Fuck. This wasn't going well. And Granger, both infuriatingly and bafflingly, grinned a teeny knowing smile.

"Its tonight. But, you know, he's using a randomizing spell. There's no guarantee…"

"What?! What're you on about, Granger? I just need to fight someone. I think I'm going soft." Granger just smiled again, and instead of hexing her to next Tuesday, Draco just blushed and walked away. How did she know? What had his face said? That all he wanted was to face Potter in battle again, use some of his hard won skills from the battlefield to make him pay for making him feel this way.

Back from Hogsmeade, but cold and wet from the imposing rain, and still not feeling settled, Harry was in no mood to host another duelling club. Rushing into the common room, he had every intention of asking Neville to host, until Hermione accosted him and said simply, Draco is coming tonight. It infuriated him that she would both think he would care, and that he did. Without really knowing why, he completely abandoned his plan to cancel, and was instantly glad he hadn't told anyone so he didn't have to explain. He summoned some supper from the house elves before changing quickly and charming his hair dry….though not neat. He had ago realized that it was a pointless adventure, taming his messy locks.

The second he was in the Great Hall, he realized his flaw in his thinking. There was no way to make sure he was dueling Malfoy. He also realized he had no idea _why_ he wanted to fight him so badly. Even if he was feeling…er…conflicted in his feelings towards the stupid Slytherin, he had no idea how fighting him would solve anything. It certainly hadn't helped during the previous seven years.

"I had an idea", said Hermione loudly. "I was thinking we should do like an elimination tournament tonight. The winners go on to the next round. Might give it a bit more edge."

Harry knew Hermione well. She was up to something. He just wasn't sure what. But the plan was a good one, and they set it up. Soon, red, green, blue, and gold sparks were flying everywhere. Harry felt a grin spread over his face as he destroyed Blaise with a jovial confundus that the Slytherin didn't block quickly enough. He was in fine form tonight, thinking spells instead of saying them, ducking and dodging. The long flight had done him good, and he was glad he didn't cancel.

That is, until, Hermione trotted over and casually explained that they were down to four pairs. And that Harry would be fighting…

It really didn't seem possible. Was fate intervening? Was this some sort of cruel trick on the part of Granger? Draco sighed and decided that whatever had led to this, he really wasn't prepared to stare Harry down, back in the same frigging situation which had led to his original fascination with the git. As long as he didn't break into parseltongue this time; he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to explain that particular turn-on.

Standing to face each other, the two men (for when they stood this way, there was no denying that they were now men), bowed politely, neither taking their eyes off each other for a second, showing their mutual distrust.

The duel started normally enough. Each tested the other by combining spoken and unspoken spells, mixed regular jinxes and hexes. It would have been a regular, boring duel, until Draco decided to taunt Harry, just as he always did. They were the same jeers he had been using for years; crap about family, and purebloods, and his glasses. For some reason, however, this particular moment of Malfoy hilarity hit Harry harder than any hex, and his anger quickly bubbled to the surface. As Draco continued to sneer insults and throw ugly faces in Harry's direction, Harry's spells became more and more reckless. Draco was really having fun now. It was lovely to get an actual reaction from the stupid boy. Gone was his careful look of composure with half hidden discomfort. His anger had led to a delightful blush starting at the tips of his ears, creeping slowly down to places his robes covered. It was all a bit too alluring, which is probably the distraction that led Draco to miss Harry's last hex.

He crashed to the ground, unable to get his legs beneath him again as they wildly flailed about him. Luckily, as every second year knew, the extreme disadvantage to a jelly legs spell was that it left your opponents wand hand unaffected, and Draco quickly raised his wand in embarrassed anger, sending a furious but nonverbal "petrificus totalus" straight to the middle of Harry's chest. If Potter was going to duel as if they were 12, he supposed he should respond in kind. He immediately realized the problem with this plan. The way they were standing, there was only one direction for Potter to fall.

Harry couldn't breathe. It had nothing to do with the hex, although that was the reason he couldn't even blink to escape his discomfort. Instead, his inability to inhale had everything to do with the fact that he was face to face with Draco Malfoy, 2 inches apart, and unable to disentangle certain parts of his anatomy that were getting increasingly interested in the uncontrolled squirming of Malfoy's lower half. He had never realized before that even though a body bind froze your movements, your sensations and feeling remained intact. He idly wondered if anyone had ever noticed that before. Unable to do anything else, Harry simply stared into those dark grey eyes, watching an intense blush creep up into blond, wispy locks. He was intrigued. He didn't think he had ever seen Malfoy blush before. And those eyes. They seemed to go on for ever, and were slowly glazing over. With what? Surely Malfoy couldn't be thinking the same things he was? That would be disturbing. Harry had survived this far by focusing on Malfoy's hatred for Harry. If there was any hint of shared confusion, he wasn't sure how he was going to handle the whole thing.

After what seemed like 100 years, Hermione unlocked Harry's limbs, calmed Draco's legs, and declared a tie. To the sound of whoops and hollers, Malfoy fled. He needed to get out, get away right now before anyone realized how affected he had actually become in the situation. Robes may be loose fitting, but he was pretty sure the new sytle he adopted, form fitting at the hips, were not going to work to his advantage in front of the whole eighth year. Bolting into the corridor, intending to head straight for the nearest toilet, Malfoy was stopped mid-step by a wand held to his neck.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Potter. What, it was a tie. Sore loser?"  
>"You know what I mean."<br>"Well, what the fuck were YOU doing? Jelly legs curse? Really? Did you use that one on…" Malfoy's voice died in his throat. He still wasn't sure how to refer to the Dark Lord out loud.

"Well, it's not like you were any better. Petrificus Totalus? Just like in second year. Besides, you made me angry. I ran out of ideas."  
>"It doesn't take much these days, does it Potter. What, still mad you couldn't save 'em all?" The second he said it, he wished he hadn't. He spun around to try and apologize, and was just in time to catch Potter's shove in the shoulders, the unexpected force knocking him back, one arm pinning him, wand still at his neck, against the tapestry hanging on the nearest wall. The anger in Potter's eyes flashed once, but seemed to soften at the shocked expression on Malfoy's face.<p>

"Never mind. I wasn't talking about the spells anyways. I was talking about…after." Harry ground his teeth together, which was not an altogether attractive facial expression, which Malfoy appreciated since his current position was going to make it hard to hide how hard he was for much longer.

"I…whaat?" Trying to find a snarky comment became very difficult, because Harry had suddenly decided to lower his wand, and was clearly raking his eyes down Draco's body. Draco weighed his options as Harry's lowered wand arm trapped itself between their bodies, causing even more contact where there was already too much.

Being a Gryffindor had its advantages. In the time it took Draco to assess the situation, and weigh the pros and cons of what was about to happen, Harry lost control of his rational thoughts and crushed the blonde into the wall, smashing skin against skin, lips on lips.

It wasn't exactly a pretty kiss. Instead, it was full of emotion, years of turmoil, anger, regret, but also more than a little lust. There were the unsaid apologies, but also too many ignored truths. It was messy and aggressive, and seemed to go on forever.

It was the best kiss Malfoy had ever had.

Harry tried to pull back, but convinced the Gryffindor wouldn't make the same mistake twice, Draco twisted his fingers into that mess he called hair to hold him in place just a little bit longer. Finally breaking free for air, Harry leaned his forehead against Draco's and muttered something that sounded distinctly like, "Well fuck", before pulling away completely and bolting backwards, and up the main staircase before Draco had a chance to react.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry traced a finger through the frosted glass of the window in his dorm room, sleepless once again. "Harry Potter Loves Dra". Shaking his head, he rubbed it out with his jumper before finishing the word.

"Shit fuck." He wasn't very eloquent most of the time. This was no exception. "What am I going to do?"

"You know what you need to do, HP."  
>"Hermione. How long have you been standing there?"<br>"It wouldn't matter. I already know what's going on."  
>"Of course you do. I knew you knew something was wrong."<br>"You have the worst poker face to ever exist, Harry James Potter. EVERYONE knows something is wrong. I'm just the only one who currently knows what; well, I guess now you do too, so that's something."  
>"It can't happen, 'Mione. He's my…enemy."<br>"We both know that's not true. You can tell he's changed. You have too, if you think about it for half a second. More importantly though, I think if you stopped to think objectively, you'd realize, maybe you never _were '_enemies'. Maybe the things you fought about were always related to things neither of you could control."

Harry had no response for that particular nugget of truth.

"Harry. You can keep telling yourself that it can't happen, or you can do something to make it happen. War is over. We won. YOU won. You're allowed to be happy now." She said this last part very gently, but it didn't stop the sting from hitting Harry square in the face. That _was_ the problem after all. He hadn't been letting himself feel any positive emotion, whatsoever, for months.

"Harry, you couldn't have fixed everything. We all fought to stop the evil. We chose that. The people who didn't make it…they wouldn't have chosen not to fight just because they knew…we all knew, going into it, that we weren't going to survive. You forget, there was a moment we thought YOU were dead. We didn't stop fighting because of it. It. Is not. Your fault. And really, it's not Malfoy's either."

"I think I already have. Done something about it. Just now. After the duel."

The grin on Hermione's face was far worse than her outright disapproval would have been. It was hard enough being in the middle of this, without thinking his best friend approved.

"Well. It's a start," she grinned as he finished explaining. As she slinked back off to Ron's bed, Harry thought about what she had said. She sort of had a point. What had he and Malfoy ever actually fought about? Largely, things that weren't either boy's fault. Usually it was over Malfoy being an ass to someone he cared about, but a lot of that had been ingrained in the pureblood since birth. Harry considered that, actually, he hated Lucius, not Draco. And Draco had started making an effort, even if he did an awful job at it. What's worse, he was realizing, was that Malfoy really had changed. Gone was the proud sneer, the snotty attitude towards everyone. He had become a reserved, ghost of himself, but somehow, it was an improvement. It was like he was trying. Harry hadn't exactly been a saint around Malfoy. He thought of the sectumsempra, and decided that he had a few reparations to make himself.

Godric. He had it bad.

He was in the process of forgiving Draco Malfoy.

The blonde, on the other hand, spent much of the next week plotting how best to avoid Harry Potter. He skipped classes, ate in the dorm, feigned illness to avoid playing quidditch. He figured it was best. Let Potter be the comfortable one, instead of causing him even more embarrassment. That act had gotten old long ago. He just wanted to see the man get some well-deserved peace.

He kept it up for 5 days. And then, the morning of double potions arrived. He loved potions. He needed the familiarity of chopping, stirring, creating something from nothing. But HE would be there. He would not avoid it, because he was failing it again. Malfoy knew this because of Granger's constant nagging for both he and the Weasel to pay more attention in class.

Right until his early morning alarm charm, Draco hadn't decided what to do. But, dragging himself out of bed, he decided to go. He really needed the calm potions provided, and the school wasn't really that big; he was going to run into Potter sometime or another. Might as well be a time when he was anticiapting it. He wasn't sure either of them would survive any more time in the corridor.

The shock and flush on the brunette' face brought immediate heat to his own cheeks. Potter hadn't been expecting Draco to show. They both sat uncomfortably through the three hour session, trying to brew an antidote to an endless sleep potion. Normally one to create perfect concotions, Draco was so unfocused that his turned blue, smoked, then disappeared, much to Snape's shock and displeasure.

As they were dismissed, Hermione gave Harry an irritatingly meaningful look as he hurriedly packed up and left as close to Draco as he could.

"Malfoy." He thought he had whispered it, but the blonde froze like he had been struck. "You've been avoiding me."

Draco didn't answer.

"I'm sorry about the duel," Harry continued.

"You don't have to apologize. That's not... I've been avoiding you so you didn't have to... It's fine."

"It's not though, is it?" The sentence barely made it out of Harry's lips, the whisper was so low.

Draco spun to face Harry, wrongly believing that he was still a few feet away. Narrowly avoiding collision, Harry forcefully pulled the other man into his arms, liking the feeling of being the steadier for once. Their strength, he pondered idly, was almost perfectly matched. It wasn't a normal sensation for Harry, and he found he quite liked it.

"It's not okay. Because we are both a mess. And all I can actually think about, at any given point in the day, is kissing you again."

As if to demonstrate, Harry took one hand away from Draco's hips and laid it instead on his cheek, drawing his face towards his. This time the kiss was far more hesitant than the last, a request, a seeking of permission. Almost at their own will, Draco's hands were suddenly everywhere he could reach at once, feeling and testing, searching. Finally settling with one on Harry's arse and the other entwined in his hair. An odd configuration, which nonetheless elicited a delicious moan from the man, who immediately deepened the kiss. The sudden heat, combined with years of fantasy and tantalizing closeness were getting to be rather a lot.

"No more corridor," was all he could manage, removing his hands long enough to drag Harry, mostly by the robes, down the dungeon paths. Cursing, not for the first time, the inability to apparate inside Hogwarts, he was at least grateful for the proximity of potions to the Slytherin common room.

"Wait." said Harry as Draco muttered the password at the portrait hole. Cold dread spread through him. He knew it had been too good to be true. This was the moment Harry would come to his senses and flee. But Potter simply cast a notice-me-not, grinning at Malfoys expression before kissing him hastily. "Just found you. Not ready to share you quite yet." It was a stroke of brilliance that wasn't all that surprising from a boy who had been constantly watched for almost a decade.

Stumbling down into the blissfully empty eighth year dorm, Draco belatedly remembered it was first thing in the morning. Very few people were likely to be in at all.

Obviously having restrained himself as long as possible, Potter crashed against Draco in a fit of lust, tearing at his robes, desperate to find skin. Taking a slightly more Slytherin approach, Draco silently vanished their outer layers, then peeled at Harry's white muggle t-shirt. Magic definitely had its place, but there were things Draco preferred to do by hand. He was not unrewarded for his efforts. He paused with a sharp intake of breath. Potters chest was more than his fantasy had dreamed. Mostly smooth, lean and muscled, with the faint hint of scars (he suspected mostly earned in quidditch), made complete by a tantalizing line of dark hair running from his navel down. As Harry divested him of his own top, both spent some time simply feeling new territory, as kisses became less sensual, more teeth and tongue than lips. Harry dragged his finger up the long scar line across the blonde's torso, which stood out to the point of almost glowing on his porcelain skin. Shuddering, Draco felt all of the apology Harry could muster appear in the hot kisses the man placed along the scar.

"Pants." Draco's order- and it _was _an order- took Harry by surprise. He was not used to being the one ordered around. Having just discovered Draco's strength as well, he found the feeling incredibly arousing, and his already swollen cock twitched in anticipation. He pulled his fingers from Draco's hair in order to hook them under his boxers and quickly drag them down. Falling into what had always been their natural order, with Draco in charge of their interaction, Harry simply began listening to orders.

Less than slowly, they found themselves upon the bed, with Draco's hips rolling into Harry's groin suggestively.

"I don't like to top, Boy Who Lived. That's going to have to be you." And, casting a lubricating charm that he had gotten very good at casting that summer, Harry was just that.

The sex was rushed, rough, dirty, so full of longing and angst that neither boy made it last long. Harry found himself apologizing for his lack of stamina, until a laughing Draco hushed him with a crushing, full body kiss.

"Relax, Harry. You're going to have time to make it up to me. We'll keep working on that."

"Aren't you deciding a lot before we've even talked?" Harry questioned, shocked at the use of his proper name. The blonde merely snuggled into his side; given his in-charge attitude not 20 minutes earlier, Harry was a bit surprised to find that the Malfoy was a cuddler. And even more surprising was that, although he normally _wasn't_, Harry wanted nothing more than to stay this way as long as possible.

"yup," Draco muttered, then nibbled at Harry's ear. "Mine."

Harry shivered.

"Okay, Draco. Okay." Grey eyes flared open and an all too familiar smirk appeared.

"Good to know we can be on a first name basis now."

**Epilogue**

**Ten Years Later **

Draco rolled out of bed to squealing laughter. He loved Teddy, he really did, but the weekends where he came to stay were always a bit draining. Pulling a deep red housecoat around his pajamas, belatedly realizing it was far too short , and, not his, he wandered down the stairs.

"Hi Uncle Draco!" shouted the eleven year old boy through a mouthful of pancake.  
>"Teddy, are you planning on remaining this loud forever?" Teddy just laughed. Apparently, that was a yes.<p>

"He lives. Its almost 10. Did you forget that we have to go to Diagon today? School supplies? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Good morning to you too, Harry." Resisting the urge to hug him while he was pissed off, Draco leaned against the counter and stole his mug of coffee instead. Beginning with what was intended to be an icy stare, Harry's gaze instead settled on bemused affection at Draco's smirk over the top of what had been his mug.

"Sorry. Overslept." Draco turned to full on smirk, which tended to win his argument's for him.

"That's because oversleeping should be your full time job."

Convinced that most of his anger was gone, Draco pulled Harry in for a quick kiss, eliciting gagging sounds from Teddy. Draco turned with obvious affection and tickled the boy until he couldn't breathe. Harry never knew what to feel about these touching moments. Teddy spent most of his time with Andromeda, but it had begun to be easier for him to spend weekends with them as she aged. He suspected, now that Teddy was starting school, he would be spending more vacation time with them than his aging aunt. This suited Harry fine, but he made a mental note to bring it up with Draco.

Their decision, even after their marriage, not to have children, had been a tough one. Ron and Hermione never understood, and what with them expecting their fourth, likely never would. But between responsibility for Teddy, and their combined less than perfect childhood's, long discussion had led them to the decision that they didn't really want to be parents. Besides, Harry's job was so dangerous; he couldn't imagine letting a child grow up as he had.

Draco stopped tickling Teddy and settled back against the counter. He had obviously done something that unnerved Harry; the brunette had been grinding his teeth together for two minutes, a gesture that only appeared when he was trying to remain calm. He caught Harry's eye, cocking one eyebrow in silent question. For a moment, they battled in gaze alone, each daring the other to break the silence first. It was always this way, neither comfortable with outward emotion or expression.

There were moments in the first years of their relationship where nothing made sense. They fought Draco's family, both sets of friends, and each other. They broke up twice, got back together against the wishes of all those that knew them, and bickered afterwards for months on end. It may not have been the easy, fall-into-bed-and-all-is-solved thing they had been anticipating. They were both too stubborn and strong willed for that. But at the end of it all, one truth kept them together. They understood each other fully. No one else quite comprehended the way their early lives had unfolded, and even though destiny may have been too strong a word to describe their connection, the early hatred born of misunderstanding dissolved quickly as they began to know each other fully.

Draco looked now at the man he had shared his life with, the man he now knew he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, and found himself grateful for all the early pain. It had made them both strong and powerful, both easily considered terrifying foes, whose unity made them a force to be reckoned with. Without the war, Draco may never have learned to appreciate the man before him for anything more than that sexy hair. Although, he wasn't anywhere near done appreciating that either. Embarrassed with where that line of thought was going, he broke Harry's gaze.

"What?" his partner said. "Look, sorry I snapped at you. I didn't mean it."  
>"I love you." Draco shrugged when he said it, and walked away to get ready for the day, still holding Harry's coffee.<p>

Left baffled, as usual, at Draco's affection which appeared at the strangest times Harry just shook his head.

"Your uncle is a bizarre man, Tedster."  
>"Which one?" Teddy laughed hysterically at his own joke then ran to get his coat.<p>

Arriving at Diagon Alley by floo less than 30 minutes later, Teddy ran ahead to catch up with Aria Longbottom and Rose Weasley, who were playing with a toy broomstick in the centre square. Draco took Harry's hand as they wandered towards their friends, the two couples who stood off to the side laughing, and for once, Harry didn't shake him off. Everything in Harry's early life made him distrustful, and although he was getting better, they were still working on public affection.

"For the record, you confounding Malfoy, I love you too."


End file.
